Eli does exactly that, and for the first time since he hit the floor, there’s a little spark of amusement in his eyes.
Logging into the computer, Eli points out a few key files before stepping aside to let Foster take over.
“He really didn’t need my help, did he?” Eli asks, watching as Foster’s fingers blur across the keyboard, windows popping open faster than we can read them.
“Nope,” I grin. “Told you.”
Foster whistles low. “Well, isn’t this a mess. Looks like when good old Patrick signed the place over, he did it knowing he was knee-deep in debt. Back taxes alone are sitting at just under a hundred grand.”
Eli frowns. “Wouldn’t that still be his responsibility?”
Foster leans back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Technically, yeah. But the problem is, he listed the property as an asset on the sale contract. So when ownership transferred…”
“Debt followed,” I finish for him, jaw tightening.
“Exactly,” Foster says. “And unless we find a loophole, the IRS is gonna come sniffing around our new little investment real soon.”
“Which is something we can’t let happen,” Spike says from the doorway, his tone all business. He steps inside, scanning the screen before locking eyes with me. “Skip, take care of it. I want this place debt-free before we start reconstruction.”
“Already on it,” I say, leaning back against the desk. “I’ll move some funds around, make sure the debt disappears without drawing attention.”
“Good,” Spike nods. “Keep it quiet. Last thing we need is the IRS asking where the money came from.”
He turns to Foster. “Good work finding that. Keep digging. See if there’s anything else Patrick forgot to mention.”
“On it,” Foster says, already typing again.
Spike lingers just a second longer, his gaze cutting to me. “Don’t overextend the club’s accounts, Skip. Handle it smart.”
I smirk. “When don’t I?”
He gives me a look that saysdon’t push it,then leaves.
Eli watches him go, brow furrowed. “You guys handle this kind of stuff a lot?”
“Money?” I shrug. “More than we should. But that’s the thing about owning something legit. We’ve gotta pretend to play by the rules.”
“Pretend?”Eli frowns.
I open my mouth before I even think twice. “Yeah. When you’re trying to keep the club’s cash clean, you learn to…”
“Too much, brother,” Foster cuts in sharply without looking up from the monitor.
I clamp my mouth shut, jaw flexing.Shit.He’s right. I said too much.
For a second, the room feels smaller, quieter. Eli’s still watching me, curiosity written all over his face, and it hits me like a punch. I almost forgot he’s not one of us. Not family. Not part of the circle that knows what really happens when the books don’t balance clean.
I hate that thought more than I should. Two days. That’s all it’s been. Two damn days, and somehow this man’s already under my skin.
I force a smile to cover the slip. “Just business talk, sweetheart. Nothing exciting.”
Eli nods slowly, but I can see the question still sitting behind his eyes.
He doesn’t press, just nods and focuses on the monitor beside Foster. Still, that curiosity lingers. Quiet, patient, like it’s waiting for me to slip again.
I should walk away. Hell, Ineedto. Foster’s right. I slipped. There’s club business, and then there’s everything else. I know that. I live by that.
But damn if it isn’t getting harder to remember where those lines are when he’s in the room.
